Boom
by JantoJones
Summary: Illya finds himself in a THRUSH supply base. (Written for the LJ Section VII picfic challenge for Sept 2nd)


When Napoleon entered Mr Waverly's office it was in darkness, apart from the glow from the aerial photograph being projected onto the screen.

"What am I looking at?" He asked, as he took his seat at the large round table.

"This image appears to show a large build-up of supplies," Mr Waverly answered. Picking up a pointer, he indicted a few things. "This looks to be a collection of fuel tankers, these are shipping containers, though we have no way of knowing what is in them, and these are very definitely missiles."

"THRUSH?" Solo queried, receiving a curt nod in answer.

Whatever was being planned by their feathered friends was obviously big and very serious.

"Can we trust the source of the information?"

"Implicitly," Waverly told him. "The photograph was sent to us by Mr Kuryakin, shortly before we lost contact with him. Luckily, he was able to give us the location of this supply base."

"I shall organise a helicopter and go and find him Sir."

"That is not your assignment Mr Solo," the Old Man huffed impatiently. "You are to go to this base and make sure it is destroyed. I am hoping that Mr Kuryakin has taken it upon himself to destroy this installation. You are to verify this or bring it to a conclusion yourself. If you should happen upon you partner, then by all means, bring him home."

MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFU

Headache? Check.

Nausea? Check.

Painful ribs? Check.

Cold, hard surface? Check.

Handcuffs, chains or rope? Negative.

After running through his standard 'coming round' mental checklist, Illya opened his eyes. He found himself, in what seemed to be a large cleaning closet, judging by the mops, brooms and detergents. This may a THRUSH base, but they seemed ill-equipped to handle prisoners. There was a tiny window near the ceiling which allowed in a small amount light, but was far too small for him to climb through. Pulling himself to his feet, Illya tried the door and, of course, found it locked. Fishing out his communicator he attempted, unsuccessfully, to contact HQ. He tried several other channels, but there was static on all of them; that could only mean he was under a jamming umbrella. With no way to call for help, Illya figured he would have to rescue himself.

After he'd sent the aerial photo to New York, the Russian had decided to do a little ground reconnaissance. An overhead shot would not show the best way to enter and leave, or where any security black-spots might be. Illya had almost finished his recce when he'd been confronted by two very large THRUSH goons. He'd instantly started to subdue one of them, but the other soon had him overpowered. As he struggled to release himself from the grip of one man, the second man pummelled Illya's torso and face. Insensibility had soon arrived.

Illya's first problem was getting out of the closet. He had a small amount of plastic explosive secreted in his heel, but thought it might cause unnecessary attention. Besides, he would probably need it for another purpose. Anticipating Mr Waverly's orders, Illya had decided to destroy the base. Given the amount of flammable and explosive materials to hand, it wouldn't take much to utterly annihilate the place. The surrounding area was empty for a couple of miles, so Illya could cause as big an explosion as he liked. Hopefully, he would be well out of the way when it all went up. He'd seen a few vehicles parked near the main gate, so knew he had at least one escape method.

Getting back to the matter at hand, Illya unfastened his tie clip and extracted a hidden lock pick. It took the work of seconds to get the door unlocked. Carefully pushing it open, he peered around the frame into an empty office. A quick search though the desk drawers yielded Illya's confiscated weapon, prompting him to wonder just who these amateurs were. He would have thought, given the major supplies being stored here, that security would have been much more stringent. Keeping his gun in his hand, Illya left the office, keeping an eye, and an ear, out for trouble. Rounding a corner, he came face to face with one of the goons from earlier. He raised his gun and ordered the guard to drop his weapon.

"How many of you are here?" He demanded as the goon threw his gun out of reach.

"As if I am going tell you that."

"Fair enough, but if I were you, I'd gather my comrades and start running," Illya continued calmly. "This whole place will be razed to the ground very shortly."

The guard looked to be in two minds. He had no idea who this blond guy was, but the blue eyes had a slightly maniacal glint in them. Without saying another word, the guard turned on his heel and ran off. Illya had no time to waste, as he had no way of knowing how many people there were who were now going to attempt to prevent his plan.

The sun was beginning to go down as Illya made his way outside, but was still bright enough to aggravate his headache. From his earlier recon, he knew that the main gate was strong and high, but had discovered a weak point in the perimeter fence. It would easily be breached with a vehicle. Darting between hiding places, Illya made his way towards the vehicles, pausing to strategically place a timed explosive on one of the fuel tankers. He now had twenty minutes to get free and clear.

Across the compound, THRUSH guards were beginning to gather in preparation for a search. Illya reached the three Jeeps and wasted precious minutes locating and cutting the fuels lines of two of them. He then hot-wired the third and stomped on the gas. The guards had no choice but to dive out of the way when the crazy Russian drove straight at them. Recovering quickly, they immediately began firing upon the escaping prisoner. Ducking down in his seat, Illya broke through fence and soon found his way onto the dirt road. He didn't look back.

MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFU

Three miles away, Napoleon Solo was flying towards the supply base. He'd tried several times to raise Illya on his communicator, with no success. Without any warning whatsoever, a serious of large explosions almost caused Napoleon to almost lose control of the chopper.

"That will be my partner now," he muttered to himself, hoping the Russian was nowhere near the blasts.

A minute later, he saw the Russian staggering along the road, and landed the helicopter a little ahead of him. Upon seeing Napoleon, Illya grinned and pointed back at the inferno.

Napoleon smiled back. "Illyusha make big boom?" he asked, as though talking to a child.

Illya nodded happily, his grin getting wider.

"Did you get caught in the blast radius?" Solo knew Illya enjoyed a nice explosion, but he was behaving a little too goofily.

"This time Illya shook his head. "Got shot in the shoulder escaping, then I crashed the Jeep."

The adrenalin, which had gotten him this far, finally disappeared and he sank to his knees. Napoleon helped him back up and guided him to the helicopter.

"Come on Tovarisch," he cajoled. "There's a nice comfy bed in medical with your name it."

The End.


End file.
